


One Surefire Way to Catch a Terrible Hat Thief

by AlaeFatorum



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Everyone's feeling festive for the holidays except Jesse McCree, Gabe is the ultimate dad, Genji is sneaky, Jesse hung up posters looking for his missing hat, Jesse's missing an arm and has bad coping methods, Little sister Fareeha who isn't so little anymore, M/M, There's an awful lot of mistletoe involved, alcohol mention, original overwatch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 14:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9075202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlaeFatorum/pseuds/AlaeFatorum
Summary: Jesse McCree keeps trying (and failing) to catch his favorite cyborg under the mistletoe, and is feeling rather miserable after losing his arm almost a month ago. To make matters worse, his hat has also mysteriously disappeared.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this piece as a gift for a friend who's a big fan of McGenji; she wanted McCree trying to kiss Genji under the mistletoe, but accidentally catching other Overwatch members instead. Hopefully I did her prompt justice!

Jesse McCree wasn't quite feeling the holiday spirit. 

He couldn’t speak for the other Watchpoints, but Overwatch Swiss HQ had been in the holiday spirit since the 1st of December. Decorations for every even mildly winter holiday one could think of littered the hallways, the cafeterias, the lounges, even the gyms and training rooms. And Jesse had been given plenty of time to admire each and every one of them—despite losing his arm almost a month ago, Dr. Ziegler still hadn’t followed through (or even _scheduled_ ) the surgery to implement a prosthetic, leaving him completely grounded on base. The loss of his arm, coupled with the other injuries he’d suffered in the explosion, had already left him completely bedridden for nearly two weeks, and now he was stuck with no missions—not even simple _recon_ —and he’d just barely been granted Angela’s approval to start training again.

He’d spent most of his newfound free time, loathe as he was to admit it, feeling sorry for himself; every time he walked into a training room to practice shooting with his right hand instead of his left (and with his balance now completely thrown off), he left in a sour mood, and always much sooner than he should have. To top it off, his hat had gone missing at the beginning of the week after a particularly bad night of drinking, and he couldn’t for the life of him remember where he’d last had it. He felt exposed without it, but dreaded the idea of having to find a new one—the loss had put him in an even shittier mood, and though it was his own damn fault, he felt it was justified. Every little thing was beginning to add up, though—and it was starting to feel as if the festive decorations were mocking him. Loneliness, boredom, and on some level _fear_ , were all gnawing away at him for reasons he couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge. The more he thought about it, maybe the decorations were just encouraging him to get over himself.

Still, he couldn’t help but be restless whenever he was stuck at base. Gabe and Genji’s lives obviously didn’t revolve around his, but they’d been away on missions practically non-stop since he’d been injured. He appreciated the time they spent with him when they were on base, but it felt increasingly like _pity_. Like they knew how useless he was without his left arm and felt bad for him. As if _Genji_ of all people had any reason to pity his loss of limb.  

But God, did Jesse miss him while he was gone.

The cyborg was so much more than just his best friend, especially after Genji had opened up to him that night in the lounge a few months ago. Jesse had tried to be there for him whenever he’d could, knew about the bad days he would have every now and again (and who could blame him?). Still, every time he saw a piece of mistletoe hanging in a doorway, his heart ached. If only he could be so lucky.

Genji was scheduled to be on base for the entirety of Christmas week. Jesse didn’t actually know whether the cyborg celebrated it or not, but he seemed to enjoy the festivities at the very least. And it wasn’t as if Jesse was a particularly religious person himself—it was just tradition.

But that gave him a whole week to catch Genji under the mistletoe, and he wouldn’t waste any time. The cyborg was in briefings and other various meetings almost nonstop, which meant his chances were limited.

Still, it shouldn’t have been this difficult.

Captain Ana Amari had caught him first, standing outside the gym as he waited for Genji to get done with his morning run. Ana looked up to the doorframe as she walked out, towel slung over her shoulders, a smirk creeping onto her face as she made eye contact with Jesse—who immediately tried to make his escape.

“Good morning, McCree,” she said, tilting her head, “I see you’re not wearing your hat today.”

“Oh, hey, Captain Amari, I wasn’t… I was just going—” he stammered, attempting to turn around and flee. She wasn’t having any of it. A hand flew out and snatched his ear, pulling him backwards with an eruption of “ow, ow, ow, ow!”

“Where are you going, silly cowboy? Where’s your holiday spirit?”

Before he had the chance to respond, she pulled his head down and pressed a motherly kiss to his forehead.

“You’re a sweet boy, Jesse McCree, even if you try to pretend otherwise. Happy Holidays,” she said softly, giving him a small smile he couldn’t help but reciprocate. He pulled her in for a hug, buried his head in her shoulder, ignoring the awkwardness of their height difference, and not caring that she’d just finished her morning work-out.

“Thanks, Ana,” he muttered into her shoulder before pulling back. She brought up a hand to rustle his hair as she moved to leave.

“Maybe you can actually catch who you’re looking for next time,” she said as she left, and he swore there was a hint of laughter to her voice. Tragically, when he looked back into the gym, Genji was nowhere to be found.

He caught Angela while he was standing in the cold outside of the greenhouse, of all places. Gardening seemed to be a popular pastime among Overwatch agents looking to get away from their work for a bit, though he didn’t know Genji was one of them. Dr. Ziegler nearly ran into him on her way out, clearly surprised to find somebody waiting in the doorway. When she looked up and spotted the mistletoe, she gave him a look that, while clearly perturbed, seemed to say ‘if you actually kiss me, I’ll kill you, Jesse McCree.’ He didn’t risk it. Instead, he reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. That counted, right?

“What a gentleman you are,” she laughed, before her face grew more solemn, “… how is your arm?”

“It’s fine, doc,” he lied, letting go of her hand, and for the most part it seemed as if she believed him. Maybe it was the smile. He neglected to mention the phantom pain, or all the alcohol he stole to make it go away, but that no matter what he did, it always stuck with him something fierce. “Lookin’ forward to whatever replacement you can cook up for me, though. I’m goin’ stir crazy being stuck at base like this, watchin’ Reyes out there having all the fun without me.”

McCree knew how much of a pain in the ass it had been to schedule around his absence—Reyes definitely hadn’t planned for him to be out of commission for so long, and as a result, Gabe had been twice as busy as usual. He also suspected—but couldn’t confirm, no one would tell him straight— that Genji had offered to be his replacement where he could. As if both of them weren’t under enough pressure.

“Reyes is the one who won’t clear you for the operation! He won’t tell me why, but I think he wants to make sure I’ve got the design for your prosthetic perfect. Or maybe he just wanted to give you a bit of a break? You suffered substantial injuries, you know, and not just your arm. A bit of time off feels well deserved to me—and for the holidays, too!”

Now that was a surprise. Reyes was the reason he was still stuck here? Did he not want him back in the field? He’d been with Overwatch for almost seven years, and he’d done his very best, but maybe it wasn’t enough. Blackwatch was supposed to be elite, and they’d recruited extraordinary individuals over the years. Maybe he just didn’t cut it anymore—after all, compared with super-soldiers, science geniuses, and cyborg ninjas with magic dragons, what was he? A decent shot, a decent spy, but that was it: _decent_. Combined with how often he got injured in the field… Maybe Gabe had decided he just wasn’t worth it anymore.

His expression must have darkened, because Angela reached out to pat his right shoulder and spoke again.

“Don’t worry, Jess, we’ll get you a new arm soon. You’ll be back shooting before you know it.” She gave him a reassuring smile, and he returned it as best he could.

“ _Gracia_ s, Angie. ‘preciate it, as always.”

“Of course, Jesse McCree. I’ll see you tomorrow for your weekly checkup?” She moved to continue about her business, the question more of a reminder than anything else.

“I reckon so,” was the reply, though there was little heart in it. He’d peeked back into the greenhouse to see if he could spot Genji, but once again, the cyborg was gone, and McCree was left standing in the cold. The holiday lights continued to mock him. He was feeling anything but festive.

His checkup the next day informed him he was almost completely healed, definitely able to be out in the field— if not for his arm. It put him in a rotten mood on his way to the cafeteria, and it only worsened when someone walked right into him as he attempted to enter, knocking him flat on his ass. He nearly snapped then and there, but his assailant beat him to it.

“ _Ach!_ I’m sorry, my friend, I did not see you there!” The gargantuan man before him extended a hand to help him up, and Jesse found he just didn’t have it in him to be upset with Reinhardt. The man lifted him to his feet, voice booming as he spoke again. “I hardly recognized you without the hat, Jesse McCree! And I didn’t see you in the doorway—I hope you will forgive me!” Reinhardt gazed up in contemplation, spotted the mistletoe above them. “Maybe the mistletoe can make it right, ja?”

“I… don’t think I really need a kiss, Rein, but I appreciate the offer. ‘sides, I was the one that wasn’t lookin’ where I was goin’, anyways--”

“ _Nonsense_ , my friend!”

Jesse found himself enveloped in a hug that nearly crushed him, Reinhardt easily strong enough to destroy every bone in his body if he really wanted to. But it was a nice hug, warm and strong, and though Reinhardt had nothing to apologize for, McCree appreciated it more than he could say.

“Merry Christmas, my dear friend Jesse McCree!” Reinhardt bellowed as he released the cowboy, clapping him on the back as he walked away. Jesse smiled as he continued into the cafeteria. He’d forgotten to eat dinner last night; he wasn’t a picky eater (he never had the chance to be growing up), but he hoped the cafeteria had something _good_ today.

About halfway through his shitty hamburger he realized he was supposed to be at a debriefing right about now. It wasn’t anything critically important—just more details on a handful of ongoing ops they’d been working on in Barcelona over the past few months. They’d originally been thought of as completely independent missions, but apparently a few agents had started piecing together connections, and now anyone that had been involved with even _one_ of those missions was considered a part of the whole operation. So Jesse was required to attend every one of the briefings, despite the fact that he had next to nothing to do with it, and never would again, if Reyes was going to keep him grounded on base indefinitely. Still, he was sure _someone_ would be angry with him if they noticed his absence.

He stared sadly at his food; he didn’t have time to finish it. It wasn’t worth saving, either, so he begrudgingly dumped it and grabbed a bag of chips on his way out, shoving as many of them into his mouth as he could while jogging down to the conference room. He managed to slide into a chair next to the door just as the meeting began. The great Strike Commander Jack Morrison himself was at the front of the room, which was a new and mildly intriguing development, if Jesse had had it in him to care at the moment. Instead, his eyes fell on Genji sitting at the opposite side of the table across the room, who had offered him a small—yet excited—wave as he had entered. Jesse gave him a genuine smile, and almost immediately zoned out of whatever Morrison was saying—99% sure it had exactly nothing to do with him—in favor of watching Genji and thinking. Wondering if Genji was having a good week—he hadn’t actually talked to him in what felt like in forever. Wondering if Genji didn’t need their friendship as much as Jesse did to stay grounded. Wondering, unpleasantly, if Genji wanted to break up with him, as an explanation for why they hadn’t spoken. He had his visor on today—his face was impossible to read, and Jesse was shit when it came to reading body language. He’d hoped they could spend the holidays together. Maybe he’d hoped for too much. Or maybe he was making something out of nothing, his thoughts working—very effectively—against him. He just wanted to kiss his boyfriend under the mistletoe. He didn’t need to arms to do that, and he didn’t need so much negativity flooding his mind. He also really didn’t Jack Morrison to keep droning on in that monotone voice of his; he was like to explode.

Thankfully, he didn’t get the chance. The briefing ended on the note of “keep it up soldiers, and we’ll catch these guys no problem. Dismissed,” and Jesse took it as his chance to book it out of the room as quickly as he good, hooking around to wait by the doorway. Maybe he could finally catch Genji.

“Agent McCree.”

…. Or not. Jesse spun around, immediately throwing on his best smile as he came face to face with the head of Overwatch.

“Aw, howdy, Strike Commander! What can I do for you on this mighty fine day?”

Jesse McCree didn’t particularly like Jack Morrison, and vice versa. The Strike Commander had had it out for him since day one, and the only reason Jack seemed to tolerate Jesse’s presence at all was on account of Gabriel’s fondness for him. Likewise, Jesse’s biggest motivation for remaining civil was because he knew how much Jack meant to Gabe, and if there was one person he didn’t want to upset, it was Gabriel Reyes.

“Were you actually listening during that briefing at all?”

Right to the point. He could appreciate that.

“Of course, sir! I take every one of these briefings with the utmost seriousness, sir! I truly appreciate every opportunity you give me to hear what I already know, sir!”

Jack glared at him then, clearly weighing whether or not it was worth it to yell at him for the insubordination and shit-headedness today. When the Strike Commander did nothing but sigh and roll his eyes, Jesse knew he had decided it wasn’t, and gave his best shit-eating grin in response. If he couldn’t use the mistletoe to kiss his boyfriend, he could at least use it to bother the strike commander. So he leaned forward, pressed a quick kiss to Jack Morrison’s cheek, and immediately booked it away from the man as fast as he could before the Strike Commander could strangle him.

“Merry Christmas, sir!” he called backwards, certain that Jack was ready to kill him.

“ _Jesse McCree—!“_ was his only response. Clearly somebody wasn’t feeling the holiday spirit. He wondered absently if he’d tattle on him to Reyes as he jogged down the hallway, eventually feeling safe enough to slow down to a more reasonable walk. In a stroke of good fortune, he spotted just the man he was looking for a few feet ahead of him.

“Genji!” he called, hopeful, almost pleading. The cyborg did turn around to face him, but did not lessen his pace, apparently content to walk backwards.

“Jesse!” was his response, and he sounded perfectly cheerful, which was encouraging. “As much as I want to stay and chat, I’m afraid I have somewhere to be right now!”

“… Oh,” he said, slowing to a stop, disheartened. “I’ll… see you later then, I guess.”

“Of course, Jesse!”

Of course.

He skipped his daily attempt at shooting practice (and dinner, again) to lock himself in his room instead, marathoning westerns (he’d been given a whole collection of his favorite movies for his birthdays over the years, courtesy of Ana and Gabe) in an attempt to make himself feel better. He was halfway through his second movie when there was a knock on his door, relatively quiet in nature, but surprising enough to make him jump. Jesse tentatively slid off his bed and stepped slowly across the room, narrowing who it could be down to a select number of people. Maybe Genji had decided to visit him. The idea brought a smile to his lips, and he was suddenly grateful to his past self for having enough prescience and motivation to hang up mistletoe outside his dorm.

“Howdy, Gen—”

As soon as he’d opened the door, a pair of distinctly human, fleshy arms had wrapped themselves around his neck, and they were accompanied by an overjoyed “Jesse!”

“… Hey, Fareeha,” he said, returning the hug as tight as he could with his right arm, trying not to sound disappointed. Because he wasn’t, really. She’d been so nice to him over the past weeks, nicer than he deserved—she’d been missing _college_ _classes_ for him, getting permission from whoever was in charge to miss class every few days so she could visit him, apparently making the claim that he was family and she “had to be there.” It was, quite honestly, one of the sweetest things anyone had ever done for him. He still couldn’t believe she was missing _college_ for him—not to mention the amount of flights she’d taken from Canada to Switzerland was downright ridiculous. She was sweet, and kind, and she loved him like a brother, and he knew for certain that he did not deserve her.

“Isn’t it a custom to kiss someone that you catch underneath mistletoe?” she asked him, squeezing him once more before pulling back to get a good look at his face, a soft smile on her own. He looked up, rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

“I reckon so,” he said, and leaned forward, kissing her on the nose. Giggling, she did the same, a reciprocation of a secret code they had developed years ago.

Quietly, she asked him, “How are you doing, Jess?”

“Well enough,” was his answer. She was certainly busy enough; he could skip over the details of how pathetic he’d been this week.

He pulled back to let her inside, letting the door shut with a click behind her. Watching movies was more fun with company, anyways, and Fareeha was possibly the best company he could have.

“You look different without your hat. And your room is a mess, cowboy.”

“’s alright, I’ll clear you a spot, sheriff.” They made it through two more movies before she announced that she needed to go to bed—she was having breakfast with her mother in the morning.

He fell asleep feeling slightly less sad. Waking up the next morning was a different story.

He couldn’t find his serape. _Anywhere_. He searched his room from top to bottom, and when that failed, actually cleaned it up for the first time in months in the hopes of finding it. It took well over an hour (he missed lunch). To his credit, though, hanging clothes up with only one arm proved to be incredibly tedious. Even after he’d gone through everything he owned (which, admittedly, wasn’t much), searched every room on the base he could think of, it was still missing. It had been bad enough that it’d been practically shredded by the same explosion that ripped his arm off, but it was still _his,_ and now, along with his hat, he couldn’t even _find_ it. He finally gave up, utterly miserable. Seeing that it was well past 2 p.m., he decided to forgo lunch entirely. It hadn’t even occurred to him that today was Christmas Day.

Gabriel Reyes found him in the training room in the middle of the day on Christmas, curled up on the floor and shaking.  

“McCree? You in here?”

“… Jesse?”

“Jesse, it’s Gabe. I’m coming over there. Please don’t shoot me, it’d be a shit Christmas present.”

Jesse let go of his gun, let it clatter to the floor, brought his hand up to his mouth and bit down to stop the sound of tears, stop the shaking of his limbs. The boots got a little closer.

“Jesse, I’m gonna hope that was the sound of you dropping the gun, so that you _don’t_ accidentally shoot me when I come around that corner.”

When he spoke, he had every intention of doing it firmly, assuredly. In reality, it wavered horribly, cracked on the third word, creating a sound that was all around miserable. “I don’t think I could hit you if I… If I tried, boss.”

Gabriel found him pressed against the wall in the shadows of the practice range, tear-stricken and shaking bad enough that his previous statement may very well have been true.

“Why do you say that, kid?” Jesse McCree had not been a kid in a very long while, but the nickname had stuck.

“I can’t shoot, b-boss.”

“I’ve _seen_ you shoot.”

“I can’t do it with my right hand.”

Gabe glanced downrange at the targets Athena had set up, and, admittedly, what he saw was atrocious. Every shot combined might have been a kill. Gabriel knew McCree, though, and he had never _just_ cried before. No, Jesse liked to let things stew, to ignore his emotions long enough in the hopes they would go away, though they never did. He let every insecurity he’d ever experienced build up, and didn’t tell anyone else a damn thing about it. Usually by the time he let it hit him in full, it left him near catatonic. Gabe tried to be there for him before that happened, but he’d been so goddamned busy these past few weeks, it made things difficult.

But Jesse McCree was a damn good liar, and, as far as Gabe knew, no one else could see through his lies like he could. Jesse had helped Gabe more than the kid would ever understand—the least he could do was return the favor, so he tried to help where he could, keep the kid level, keep him honest, keep him sane. Neither of them had easy lives, but at least Gabe had chosen his.

Gabriel dropped to a crouch in front of McCree, watching him carefully, trying to gauge where he was at. He didn’t look drunk, at least. Some Christmas that’d be.

“If you can’t shoot, mijo, this gift’s gonna be a bit of a waste.” Gabe gripped the box tightly behind his back. He’d been so excited to give it to him, resisting the urge all week to just hand it over. It was supposed to cheer him up. He hoped it still would.

“I don’t need a gift.” Jesse refused to make eye contact with him, staring miserably at the floor, wishing his problems away.

“It’s Christmas, Jesse. ‘course you need a gift.”

“I want my arm back.”

They’d had this conversation before, though usually when he found Jesse piss-drunk and leaning against an open fridge at some ungodly hour of the morning. It didn’t seem like either of them had the energy to revisit it again in full today.

“I can’t give you your arm back, mijo. Lord knows I would. We’re gonna get you a new one, though. Best that we can manage.”

“ _I don’t believe you_.” He fidgeted absently with his shirt, slightly chilly, wishing he had his Blackwatch uniform jacket, or hoodie, or _something_ , but he hated having an empty sleeve that dangled freely whenever he moved.

“… And why’s that, exactly? Do I make a habit out of lying to you?”

Jesse tried to shrug, the gesture almost entirely meaningless without a second arm to follow through. Almost a month, and he still thought it was there sometimes. “Angie told me you’re the reason she can’t schedule my operation.”

“And you think that means it won’t ever happen?”

“I figured that by now I was just… Useless. Not worth your time, or your money, or your kindness.”

“When have I ever given you that idea?”

“I… you haven’t, I just… You’ve got so many supersoldiers in Blackwatch now, and I’m just _decent_ , and I can’t even _shoot_ anymore and I haven’t gotten a mission in almost a month and—“

“I don’t believe that.”

“And I-I—” he was stuttering, stumbling over words, struggling to breath against the sobs he tried and failed to contain. He bit down on his tongue, tired of the shaking, tired of the weakness. He tasted blood.

“ _None_ of that is true, mijo. Christ, kid, I just wanted to give you the holiday off. I didn’t mean for… It was just a vacation. You’ve done so much, been through so much. You lost your _arm_ , for fuck’s sake. I figured it was worth some time off, and… Angela’s still working on the designs for your prosthetic, making sure it’s the very best Overwatch’s money can buy. It’s not… It’s not your fault, none of it.” He was rambling, but he didn’t know what else to say.

“I can’t shoot with my right arm, Gabe.”

“You’ll learn. You’re dedicated.”

“But I—”

“Do you wanna see what I bought you, or not?”

“Why’d you buy me somethin’ at all?”

“’cause it’s _Christmas_ , pendejo, weren’t you listening? You should be used to this by now.”

“I didn’t get you nothin’.”

“That’s all right. It’s called a _gift_ , not a mutual exchange.”

Commander Reyes pressed a package into his hands, carefully, lovingly wrapped, before he stood up.

“Open that up while I’m gone, but slowly. I’ll be right back. I wanna see your face.”

Jesse held it in his hands for a moment, not entirely sure what he was waiting for. He didn’t deserve a gift, but he knew there was no chance in hell Gabe was going to let him get away without at least opening it.

So he slid his fingers into the wrapping paper, pulled it apart with surprising gentleness. He struggled to open the actual box until Gabe returned, realized what he had accidentally done, and assisted him, flipping open the box with the help of two hands, rather than just one. Once he could see inside, Jesse could only stare at its contents, mouth agape.

“Since you’re apparently not gonna let the cowboy phase go anytime soon, I figured it was time I got you a weapon that matched.”

“This is… it’s….”

Fresh tears rolled down his face as he held the ridiculously gorgeous, high-tech revolver in his good hand, running his fingers down the barrel, the grip, the hammer, completely blown away. Awestruck.

Gabe wrapped his arms around him, pulled him close, let Jesse rest his head on his shoulder, like he had done so many times before. He pressed a kiss to the top of Jesse’s head, a simple gesture that meant so much.

“ _Merry Christmas, mijo. Things’ll get better soon, I promise.”_

He sobbed a broken “thanks, Gabe,” into his shoulder, and when Gabriel lifted him up again, he pressed another kiss onto his forehead.

“It counts if it’s under the mistletoe, right?” the Commander said, dangling a piece he’d snatched from somewhere between two fingers, a lopsided smile on his face.

“Guess that means I owe you one, huh?” Jesse leaned forwards, returning the kiss on the forehead. “I’ll see if I can find you a ‘World’s Greatest Dad’ mug somewhere, yeah? As a late present. Didn’t you break your old one?”

“ _Jack_ broke my old one. Ana and I tried to hot glue it back together.”

Jesse laughed, the sound light and uplifting, interrupted by a hiccup leftover from the tears.

“Yeah. Fareeha and I’ll get you a new one, and it’ll be _way_ _better_ than that old thing, I guarantee.”

“Then I’ve got somethin’ to look forward to, don’t I? But I’d better see you in here training with that thing every day, or your ass is on the line. It cost a fortune, I don’t wanna see it go to waste, got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And make sure you eat something today, yeah? I know how forgetful you can be.”

He’d picked himself up off the ground as soon as Gabe had left, immediately getting to work on his aim, learning the ins and outs of his new gun, determined to be as perfect as possible. The shooting wasn’t great by any stretch—but it felt like he was getting better, and the encouragement was enough to keep him going. Not to mention the new weapon was so beautiful he just couldn’t resist.

He finally called it quits after a few hours, cleaned up all the fallen shell casings, headed back to his room. Not great, but better. He grabbed a bit of food from the mess hall on his way back, deeming it enough to count as dinner. He gnawed on a chicken leg as he sat in bed, reading over the reports he’d ignored from yesterday’s briefing until he fell asleep.

And he would have been fine with that, if he hadn’t woken up about three hours later, and found himself restless.

That was how he wound up in the Blackwatch lounge at 3 AM, and how Genji caught _him_ under the mistletoe.

Jesse threw himself onto the couch like he’d done a hundred times before, flipped on the TV, leaned his head back, noticed the fresh bouquet of flowers on the table, a mixture of red and green petals. He absently wondered if he’d ever seen flowers with green petals before as he closed his eyes, praying to fall asleep.

“Gabriel said you wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight,” the voice came from the doorway, robotic, startling him.

It took him a moment before he responded, trying to keep his composure in the face of his sheer excitement at hearing Genji’s voice. “You know, sometimes I think he knows me a little too well. It’s fuckin’ weird.”

“You think so?”

“… I think I’ve missed you this week, Genj.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

“I thought you were avoiding me.”

“I would _never—_ I’ve been busy! Besides, it would’ve spoiled the surprise.” He felt more than heard Genji approach him, choosing to stand behind the couch instead of beside it, still, for now, out of sight without extra effort on Jesse’s part.

“…. Surprise?”

Something soft and red flew into his vision, a piece of cloth flying at him from behind, suddenly wrapped around his shoulders. There was an orange pattern stitched along the bottom, and, most noticeably, not a single hole, fray, or burn mark in the material.

“You… fixed my serape?” He said, awestruck, and sat up properly to examine it, wrapping it fully around his shoulders, amazed by its near-perfect reconstruction.

“And picked some flowers to put on the table. _And_ saw how you’ve been waiting for me under the mistletoe around base all week. I stole your hat, too— I thought it suited me better. Though that was a little while ago.” The cyborg finally drifted into his field of view, visor still on, and with Jesse’s missing hat on his head, a piece of mistletoe dangling from the brim. “But yes, Fareeha borrowed your serape the other night while you were watching movies, and Gabe, Ana, and I got it fixed.”

“It does suit you. The hat, I mean.” He reached out to trail Genji’s face with his good hand, but the cyborg pulled it away for a moment.

“Here, let me…”

There was a slight hiss as Genji removed his visor; he returned Jesse’s hand to his face, his lips upturned into a smile.

“I’ve been trying to kiss you all week, Genji Shimada. I thought I was gonna have to go through all of Overwatch just to find you... I really wasn’t looking forward to Torbjorn.”

Genji chuckled, clearly a lot more amused than McCree himself. “Was it really so horrible to learn how many people care about you?”

“… Pardon?”

Genji paused for a moment, searching for the right words, the perfect words, that he was never certain he could find.

“You always think you’re so alone, but it’s not true. Angela, Reinhardt, Ana, Fareeha, Gabe. Even Jack, though it may not seem like it. Me. We all care about you. You don’t have to hide from us, you know.”

“I could say the same to you, Genji.”

The cyborg sighed, rolled his eyes. “That’s not the point, silly cowboy— I’m talking about _you,_ not _me._ Besides, you’ve been trying to kiss me all week, and now I’m right here, with mistletoe hanging from your hat, and you won’t follow through? A very silly cowboy, indeed.”

“You got me there.”

He took just a second to take in his face, his eyes, his hair, before he finally leaned in and pressed his lips against Genji’s. He lost all track of time while they sat there, lips together, Genji’s hands moving to entwine in his hair, Jesse’s hand holding his face. For the first time in the weeks since he’d lost his arm, everything felt perfect.

They broke the kiss eventually, but kept their foreheads against one another, relishing in each other’s presence. The silence was comfortable, not unwelcome, but Jesse wanted to say _something_. Something perfect, and true, that would fit the moment perfectly.

“… I love you, Genji,” he said slowly, softly, and with almost complete confidence, braver on account of the sleep deprivation, delirious from the relative lack of food over the past few days.

Genji smiled, laughed, laced his hand with Jesse’s own, as if Jesse hadn’t just bared his heart to him. “I love you, too, Jesse McCree. With all of my heart.”

“See, now, there ya go, tryin’ to outdo me. I dunno if I appreciate that too much. Might have to take it back.”

The cyborg gasped, drew back, pretending to be incredibly offended. “You _wouldn’t_! Not on _Christmas_ , of all days!”

“It ain’t Christmas anymore, Mr. Shimada. Not to mention, you stole my hat. I’ve been worried sick about it.”

“… I decided it was my Christmas present.”

“I got you a _scarf_ for Christmas!”

“ _You did?_ ”

Jesse’s brows drew together in confusion as he thought, realized that maybe he hadn’t actually given it to him after all. And he’d gone to so much effort to keep it a surprise. And getting Ana’s help to wrap it. He’d decided after three failed attempts that wrapping paper was a menace.

“Aw shoot. I forgot to give it to you, didn’t I?”

“Unless you gave it to someone else that looks just like me?”

“Hm, not many other folks could look just like you, darlin’. You’re too gorgeous— you’ve got everyone else beat. And besides, I ain’t hardly even seen you this week! I couldn’t even find you to deliver it!”

“You are such a silly man, Jesse McCree! That is a very poor excuse, but I am still very glad to have fallen in love with you. Even if you’re a bit of an ass sometimes.”

“The feeling’s mutual, partner. Believe me.”

Jesse McCree had told a great many lies in his life, but he was certain that this was not one of them.

“… Do you want to get something to eat with me, Jesse?” he asked suddenly, resting his head on Jesse’s shoulder, rubbing his face along the beard that was beginning to grow on the cowboy’s face.

“Darlin’, it’s nearly 4 a.m.”

“So?”

“… I guess I _am_ kinda starvin’, now that you mention it.”

“And maybe you can show me your shiny new gun while we’re at it?”

“Careful there, Genj, or you might start givin’ me ideas.”

“… I believe I’ve already got quite a few.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! You can follow me on tumblr if you want at celestial-pastry.tumblr.com.


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